Chapter 33

Reasons

When Remus tiptoed into the fifth-year Gryffindor boys' dorm an hour later, Harry was still thrashing sleeplessly on his bed. He pretended to snore so his parents' old friend wouldn't ask him any questions—even though he was burning to ask ones of his own . . . but only if Remus gave him the answers he wanted to hear.

Of course, we all knew your mother was friendly with Severus Snape. An act of charity, nothing more. Yes, your mother called everyone dear. And the lounging sketch? Just an Art of Magic assignment to draw someone with bad teeth.

Harry rolled over, wrapping his blankets around him like a winding sheet. No matter what excuses he invented, he couldn't quash his uneasy impression that the relationship had been secret—falsely indifferent when others were watching, strangely intimate when the two were alone. Of all the qualities he'd imagined in his mother, sneaky had never been one of them.

Harry gritted his teeth. If she'd had a passing fancy for someone—someone she'd brushed off as soon as she'd met his father—that wouldn't be so bad. But hadn't Hagrid described his parents as a pair from year one? Then how could his mother, in year six, have called another boy dear? Discovering Severus Snape had had feelings for Lily Evans had been disquieting enough. To learn she'd had some sort of feelings for him was downright alarming.

By the time Harry untangled himself from his bedcovers at dawn, he'd vowed to uncover the secret, once and for all—no matter how sneaky he'd have to be to do it.

At breakfast, Harry sat down beside Remus. His friend greeted him warmly, then leaned forward to continue his amiable debate with Ariel Daine. The former and current Defense Against the Dark Arts professors ignored the clattering crockery around them as they argued the restorative powers of licorice wands versus chocolate frogs. With false nonchalance, Harry reached for the canister of dried cherries and pecan halves to sprinkle them over his oatmeal, wondering how the tardy Potions master would take the tête-à-tête.

He didn't have to wonder long. A minute later, Snape swept back the double doors into the Great Hall, then froze. Harry hadn't seen such resentment spark in the black eyes since that buffoon Lockhart had made the mistake of claiming he could best the Potions master in a wizard duel. Then a tremor of uncertainty passed over Snape's face. He blinked. Twisting his lips into an uncharacteristically cordial smile, he strolled forward.

Quickly, Harry looked down to concentrate on stirring his porridge. He didn't look up until he heard Remus's cheerful greeting to the Potions master.

Snape stopped behind Ariel Daine. With an air of forced casualness, he cupped his hands around her shoulders. Brightening, she tipped her head back to smile at him. With his next deep breath, he seemed to relax. Then he reached into his voluminous black robes and pulled out a glass bottle of long green pills.

"You've done it!" Remus exclaimed. "No more nasty, reeking potions. You're a genius."

Snape furrowed his forehead, clearly confused at being praised, then thrust the bottle at Remus. "Tonight the moon begins to wax. Take one caplet at bedtime. To be effective, the remedy must be continued throughout the lunar cycle. Scrupulous adherence should allow you to remain homomorphous at its end."

Nodding happily, Remus stashed the bottle in his royal blue robes. "Your other patient will arrive Christmas Eve. Everything has been arranged."

Snape's eyes hooded slightly. "My eagerness cannot be contained."

When Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, Remus nudged him under the table. Putting his friend's warning together with the displeasure twitching Snape's left cheek, Harry's heart leapt. He remembered Dumbledore's promise that he had a second surprise coming. Now he knew who it would be: Sirius!

Outside the Great Hall, Harry tried to ask Remus about his godfather. Why had he referred to him as a patient? But, with a meaningful glance at the passing Draco Malfoy and Wilhelm Avery, his friend changed the subject. Malfoy mumbled an acknowledgment of his ex-teacher's Good Morning. Avery just narrowed his eyes as he strolled by.

Remus smiled. "It'd be best if we saved our talk for the Gryffindor dorm. I'm afraid I won't be free to come there until quite late. After I finish installing computer programs, I begin the tutorials. Professor Flitwick wants me to teach him how to write a database application to catalog spells. Professor Sinistra is determined to learn in one day a statistical package that takes Muggle university students half a year to master." He rolled his eyes. "Wizards!"

At midnight, Harry was still waiting for his friend to return to Gryffindor. He didn't mind the delay, though. He was still struggling over his letter to Cho. Hedwig strutting back and forth across the back of the writing table wasn't helping. The great snowy owl punctuated each about-face with a hoot of annoyance. Across the room on Neville's bed, the lounging Bête Noire opened one eye.

"Patience," Harry murmured, offering another of the vole-flavored owl treats he'd bought that day in Hogsmeade. At least, he'd decided on Dear Cho, having discarded Dearest Cho as too forward and Hey, Cho! as too offhand. But what should he write about? The drama of the Yule Ball played through his mind—Snape's and Daine's startling public display of affection, Dobby's unexpected disclosure about Malfoy, the third alarming attack on Dumbledore, his own ludicrous attempt to play the hero.

The Great Hall looked charming for the Yule Ball, as you would expect. Professor Flitwick made enchanted name cards that looked like snowflakes. Ron ended up dancing with Hermione, which is what I wanted anyway. The professors crowned Headmaster Dumbledore Father Christmas. Someone blundered and used shock laurel instead of regular laurel. Neville handled it.

What Harry really wanted to do was ask how Cho felt about him. Now that he knew what PDA stood for, her exasperation when he'd claimed he'd forced her took on a new embarrassing significance. Even now, the memory of her gasp made his cheeks burn. And her blank stare out the carriage window—what had it meant?

I'm sorry about what happened on the train platform. The detention wasn't bad, though. I got plenty of fresh air.

Harry wondered if Cho had divulged all her secrets to her great-great-grandmother. If so, what had her ghostly advisor answered? He doesn't sound worthy to me. Too impulsive. Too undisciplined. You say you've taught him to soar, but could he summon the magic when it really mattered? From what you've told me, I believe he'd lose all self-control and fall flat on his—

Inhaling sharply, Harry shut the old girl up and continued his letter.

I'm looking after Millicent's cat Bête Noire while she's away. She gave me a Djinn ball as a thank-you present.

Harry frowned. He didn't want Cho to think he was mentioning his friendship with Millicent just to prove how open-minded he'd become about Slytherins and earn himself points.

So far, I've learned to use the ball to see familiar places nearby. I wish I could use it to visit unknown places faraway. I miss our early morning Wudang Shen lessons and studying with you in the library. I expect things to be pretty boring around here until—

Harry tapped his quill against his closed mouth, toying with the various ways that sentence could end: until we meet again, until I hold you in my arms, until we—

—everyone gets back from holiday.

Harry sighed. Then he signed his name, refrained from adding X's and O's, rolled up the note, and slid it into the waterproof leather tube strapped to Hedwig's right leg. She hooted softly, as if to say, About time. She pecked up one last owl treat and fluttered to the casement. He followed, unhooked the latch, and swung the mullioned window wide. Without a backward glance, his bird took wing. He soon lost sight of her in the darkness. As Snape had said, the moon had just started to wax. Even so, Harry remained standing with the night air chilling his cheeks until he heard the dormitory door creak. He pulled the glass shut and turned to see Remus slouching in the doorway. Immediately, Bête Noire hopped off the bed and sauntered over to weave sympathetically around the older man's ankles.

"Let me bring you some hot cider," Harry said, striding over to the fireplace. Using the maroon potholder Mrs. Weasley had knitted, he removed the simmering kettle and poured two cups. As he set out a late night snack, Remus started preparing for sleep, wandering back and forth between the bedroom and bathroom, relating amusing anecdotes of magician versus machine.

"The staff are talking about setting up a network throughout Hogwarts—enough work to last me until Spring," Remus finished as he knotted his russet velour dressing-gown, sank into an overstuffed chair, waited for Bête Noire to curl up on his lap, then reached for his steaming mug. "I don't know if my roommate in London would appreciate that, though."

As he spoke, Remus examined the first of his long green pills. With a grimace, he popped it into his mouth and washed it down with cider. Then he grinned. "Not bad."

Harry peered at him skeptically. "How do you know it'll work?"

"I don't, actually. Just in case, I'll have to be locked up at the next full moon. But Severus has been working on this remedy since July, testing the formula on rats injected with some of my blood. I'm confident enough that I plan to bring along a novel to pass the time while I'm confined."

Rats? Harry's mouth opened slightly as he recalled the cages in the Potion master's office. "Since July? I'd never pictured Snape—Professor Snape—taking such trouble to help someone."

Remus shrugged. "I expect it's mostly an intellectual challenge with him. But believe me, I'm grateful that intellect is on our side."

Harry straightened his glasses. "And the other patient—that's Sirius, isn't it?"

"I thought you'd guessed."

Harry frowned. "He's not—"

"Ill? Not that I know of, but it's a wonder he's not, isn't it? Keeping on the run, as he does. No, Severus is working on something altogether different for him. If you ever wanted proof of Severus's commitment, the fact that he's putting his animosity toward Sirius aside to help him is it."

Remus hadn't volunteered just what form that help would take. Harry supposed he'd find out from his godfather on Christmas Eve. Right now, he had other questions on his mind, ones he'd been worrying about since morning. How to begin? "Sirius really hated Severus Snape in school, didn't he? Why?" It wasn't because the Slytherin had been moving in on his best friend's girlfriend, was it?

Remus scratched Bête Noire's head. "I could tell you a dozen why's—and both Sirius and Severus would tell you the other chap started it. But it all depends on how far back you look for answers, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded. Tonight he was willing to go as far back as it took.

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